Memory Echo
by alexajaye
Summary: Sequel.  While Jake and Norm make preparations for the ISV Shuttle, a very familiar face is also preparing himself to confront a future no one can predict. Backtracks events on Earth & follows Jake & Norm six months to three years after Second Skin.
1. Feeble Excuses

**Well, to all who asked for it, here it is! I know it's been a long time coming, but what can I say, I think I had this planned the whole time. A year ago, I posted Second Skin, and now, here I am posting the sequel. Whoever thought I would do that? **

**Anyway, here's the deal. For the first couple of chapters, we're going to be doing a little reconnaissance, ****going back to see what might've happened when our crew that left Pandora got back to Earth. Of course, we all (most of us anyway) wish something like this might've happened.**

**We will definitely be getting back to Jake. I want to introduce you to the other characters who will play a part in the story later on, and I'm still pinning down our plot, so the update might be spaced apart for the first little while.**

**This is also going to be slightly different from the other story in a really obvious way once you pick on it, so for that purpose it will be rated M all the way through, for language and probably violence and other stuff.  
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**And if you've clicked on this at random, you will need to read _Second Skin_. I know I hate to say it, but it's true.**

**Now, after a long Note up here, those of you ready need to go on and get reading.**

**See you at the bottom!**_**  
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><p><em><strong>Feeble Excuses . . .<strong>_

_**6 ½ years after leaving Pandora**_

RDA Executive Administrator Hannah Davenport was not happy with the latest reports from refinery plants all over the world. And she knew exactly who to blame. So when Parker Selfridge strolled into her office after a six-month lay-over from his stay on the moon Pandora, she showed him no mercy.

"So let me get this straight," she said, her icy blue eyes scrutinizing him as she sat across her desk from him. Her dark blond hair was neatly pulled from her face into a tight bun, and her casual beige dress suit belied her demeanor. "You were charged with one of the most important operations this planet has seen, and you allowed an indigenous species to drive you off the surface of an unrefined, savage moon without any resistance?"

Parker actually balked at her. "No, I did not allow anything," he bellowed. "As I believe I stated in my report, one of our infiltrators turned on us. He rallied the natives in a full-out war against us, and we were overwhelmed. Quite frankly, we were lucky to get out alive."

"And yet you left behind almost twenty members of your science team," she commented cooly. "Why?"

He blushed deep red. "Apparently, they were chosen to stay," he said softly.

"By whom?" she demanded.

"The infiltrator who turned on us," Parker stated. "He turned them on us as well."

Davenport smiled knowingly. "Oh, yes. Mr. Jacob Sully. Amazing how a wheelchair-bound former marine could undermine an operation that has been going on for years in just a few months."

Parker said nothing as she rose from her desk and moved around to be in front of him.

"I guess it's good for you that yours wasn't the only plant we had on Pandora," she said smoothly. "And those plants are a little further down than yours was."

He scoffed. "What do you mean, like underwater?"

She folded her arms over her chest. "That's exactly right, Mr. Selfridge."

"I never knew about any subterranean operations," he argued. "They told me mine was the only one of the surface."

She smiled. "That's exactly right, Mr. Selfridge."

"How was that even funded?" he asked incredulously. "And why wasn't I ever told?"

She inhaled deeply. "For the same reason you were never made aware of any of our other colonies: Miles Quaritch," she said simply. "I understand he was killed in your confrontation with the locals."

Parker bowed his head. "He was, yes."

"Good," she said, moving back to her chair and sitting down to switch on the monitor of her computer.

"Good?" he repeated with a nervous laugh. "How is that good? He was the best security officer we ever had."

"And he was responsible for how many deaths?" she asked. "I was under the impression that less than half your people survived to come back. Was that wrong?"

"No," he admitted. "But that doesn't make the death of a decorated officer in the military a good thing. I mean, he was a forceful son of a bitch, but he kept us safe." Parker paused, and then added, "Most of the time."

"Miles Quaritch was a sledgehammer," she said simply. "He was sent there because we had short notice to get a replacement. But we've had six years to find a decent replacement for him, and I think she'll do a much better job than him."

"She?" Parker repeated.

The door to her office opened, and Parker turned to see a cinnamon-colored young woman about five-seven with brown eyes and black hair dressed in green digital camouflage step into the office as if called on cue.

"Mr. Parker Selfridge," Davenport said. "I'd like you to meet Major Connie Sullivan, the new head of security on the new mining project we will be launching in 24 months."

"A woman," Parker gasped, watching Major Sullivan enter the room and stop behind the chair beside him. "Are you serious? Colonel Quaritch could barely keep up with that base. How in the hell?"

Administrator Davenport barely blinked. "Like I said, Mr. Selfridge. Miles Quaritch was a sledgehammer. And you never use a blunt object to do anything that requires a high-precision tool. Major Sullivan," she said, even though the woman's face remained blank. "What is your objective on this mission?"

Barely taking a deep breath, the woman spoke. "To secure Hell's Gate mining colony and ensure safety of all retained personnel. To begin refinery of site two, previously occupied by Na'vi population with intention of making contact with former Hell's Gate resident Jacob Sully. To secure live experiment Alpha 072848 and return to Earth within three-month lay-over."

"Do we use deadly force, Major Sullivan?" Davenport asked her.

"No, ma'am."

"Do we disrupt the local population scouting for new sites to mine?"

"No, ma'am," Sullivan replied blankly.

"And how do we deal with the local population when they do become hostile?"

"Gas rounds and long-range tranquilizers. Short range tasers for face-to-face confrontations. Adult men first, then adult women. Elderly and children are avoided at all costs."

"Okay, wait just a minute," Parker bellowed. "None of that crap is going to work. These savages are volatile, predatory animals," he exclaimed. "You can't hit them with gas and tasers. It's like hitting an elephant with a dart gun. You'll end up pissing them off and sending more of their crazy idiots in your direction. We had to use force with these things, or they wouldn't have done anything we asked them. After what Sully did, how do you expect those blue monkeys to trust you?"

"Well, Mr. Selfridge," Davenport said. "This is what we like to call a new approach. And you'll be happy to know that you _won't_ be returning to Pandora. Nor will any of the military or mining personnel who came back with you. We've been able to hire new personnel who should be able to secure the old site and the new one without anymore blood shed."

Parker scoffed lifting his eyes to Major Sullivan's again. "And exactly how do you plan on doing that? And where did you get the resources or the man power? After that debacle."

Davenport grinned, jotting notes over an electronic pad. "That debacle was your fault, Mr. Selfridge," she said simply. "And it cost this company a lot of money. I'm sure you understand our concerns with holding to the old tactics employed by Miles Quaritch. I'm also sure you can understand our need to change those tactics."

"It's not about understanding," Parker argued. "It's about _knowing_. And I _know_ this won't work."

"Like you _knew_ Mr. Sully would help you before he defected?" she asked.

"Okay, then, I'll take responsibility for that," he conceded. "Like I could have predicted the son of a bitch adopting those savages as his new family in less than three months."

"Well, he wasn't the first person you approached, was he?" she hedged. "As I understand it, you approached an avatar driver by the name of Warren Watson a year and a half before Mr. Sully arrived on base. What happened there?"

Parker scoffed. "He refused to help us," he griped.

"A smart move," she commented, her eyes averting to the opposite end of the room with a wide grin still over her face.

Parker turned slowly, seeing the face of a man he'd been hoping to never see again.

There at the back of the room stood General William Watson, Warren Watson's father.

Even though he wasn't really sure why he felt the need, Parker bowed his head, allowing the General closer before he spoke. "General Watson," he said softly. "Please allow me to apologize for what happened to your son. I swear I never wanted anything to happen to him."

"Not anything you could have prevented, isn't that right, Mr. Selfridge?" the General interjected, causing Parker to look up. "If he'd done as you asked, I'm sure he'd be standing here with you, wouldn't he?"

"Excuse me?" Parker asked.

The General looked at Davenport. "The security footage was conclusive, wasn't it?" he asked.

She nodded. "Almost completely," she said.

"What are you talking about?" Parker asked her.

"My son isn't dead, Mr. Selfridge. Despite your security guard's efforts to get rid of him. We've seen the footage. We've been watching it for a few years. And all of our analysts agreed he was still alive when he was put into stasis. So I don't really need you to apologize. But the uncomfortable look on your face is satisfactory enough." Then the General looked at Sullivan. "Did he say something along the lines of how screwed we are?" he asked her.

The blank expression on her face cracked slightly as she lifted an eyebrow slightly and smirked. "Yes."

"Well, I'm not worried," Watson said, moving around to the desk and sitting down. "I'm not going to Pandora to overrule an aggressive hunter-gatherer species with a former Marine leading them. I just want my son back. So I'm going to need Mr. Selfridge here debriefed as quickly as possible. Our Communications Tech is going to need all the info he has in that over-sized brain of his."

Parker moved around to the chair beside Watson. "Your Communications Tech," he repeated, looking up at Sullivan. "Who's that?"

"Don't worry, Parker," Davenport told him. "You don't know him, so you won't be able to influence him." She paused, grinning herself. "But he might look a little familiar."

Parker scoffed, thinking mentally of any of the people who'd been here when he'd left a hell of a long time before, but he couldn't honestly think of anyone who look familiar to him without him knowing them. "Is this some weird payback thing?" he asked nervously. "Because if that's all it is, then I think I'll just be on my way to the briefing chamber three floors down. I don't have time for games, Administrator."

Davenport stood up, moving around to Sullivan's side and whispering so only the Major heard her before the stone-faced woman left the room quietly. Then she sat back against her desk again. "What do you know about Cloning, Parker?" she asked, an intensely serious look on her face.

He looked at Watson, futilely hoping for a bit of a clue, but when he didn't get one, he looked at Davenport. "I know _what_ cloning is," he told her, "but I don't know much about the mechanics of it. Why is that important?"

"You know how the avatars were made though, right?"

Again he looked at Watson. Then he bowed his head. "I do." He paused. "I mean, basically." He laughed softly. "I'm not a scientist or an engineer. Again, why is that important?"

"You know that when all the avatar drivers were selected, they were examined extensively to ensure their physical and mental health," she went on. Parker nodded. "And you know that Corporal Jacob Sully wasn't properly prepared mentally for his trip to Pandora?"

"I know," he admitted.

"And this didn't strike you as being unwise?" the General interrupted.

Parker looked at him. "I'm not sorry I approved him," he insisted. "He had military background, and I wasn't going to waste a twenty million dollar piece of equipment just because the guy it was being grown for got killed on the street. I had to look at the bottom dollar here, and it was a piss of a waste. So I approved him to take his brother's place. And he accepted." He looked at Davenport. "And I'm going to ask you again. Why is it important for me to know any of this?"

She shrugged. "I never said it was important for you to know any of it. I only wanted to prepare you," she told him, lifting her eyes to the doors of her office a third time.

"Prepare me for what?" he asked, looking back at the door to see Sullivan returning with a tall, dark-haired, very familiar-looking man also dressed in green digital camouflage with the typical marine crew-cut hair style. Parker would remember this face anywhere, especially because it felt like only six months had passed since he'd seen it — leaving the tarmac of the base on Pandora. Of course, the face had been slightly different as it had stared down at him from a nine-and-a-half foot tall body donned in native attire. Parker stood up to face the man as he and Sullivan moved further into the office. "What the hell is this?" he asked, stepping in front of the man and immediately feeling angry despite the man's bewildered expression.

"Parker, this is _Jason_ Sully," Davenport announced. "He's going to be the mission Communications Technician. And as you can see, he bears a striking resemblance to Jacob Sully and his brother Tom. There's a distinctive reason for that. Can you guess what that reason would be?"

He looked at her, scoffing again even as he smiled confusingly. There was no way on Earth anything like this was supposed to be possible. He planted both hands on his waist, looking at the man in front of him. "This is for real, isn't it?" he whispered. "You really fuckin' did it, didn't you? Why in the hell?" he asked turning to Davenport.

"You asked us how we were going to get Mr. Sully to trust us," she reminded him. "And this is our plan. Starting now, I'm going to need _our_ Mr. Sully to know everything you know. So he's going to take you to the debriefing chamber to get you set up. After you're finished, we'll have a detail take you back to the hotel."

Parker did nothing to hide his discomfort as the man in front of him gestured to the door, indicating for Parker to go ahead of him. He looked back at Davenport, seeing her nod again before he turned and moved to the door to leave the room.

Davenport watched him leave, and when his escort raised his eyebrows at her, all she did was nod.

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><p>Parker glanced back at his escort several times during the trip they took three floors down to the briefing wing of the main building. It was different from how Parker remembered, but he'd expected that. A lot happened in 18 years, and even though Parker was barely in his late thirties, the building he was walking through looked twice as old as the time it felt like he'd been gone. The walls were all painted a different color and appeared to be yellowing on the edges from oxidation, and the floors were tiled a different pattern that made Parker feel like he was walking the plank on a pirate ship about to be tossed over the side and fed to sharks.<p>

Even the elevator lifts were different, but it didn't surprise Parker. Nothing usually surprised him. But here lately, things seemed to be popping out at him around every corner. First all that crazy mess at the colony, and now this — this clone of Sully walking around like he neither knew nor cared about what had really happened or why. Did he even know he was clone? Would the company make him and not tell him the truth about his origins? How was something like this even supposed to be possible? And in the six years it had taken Parker to get back to Earth? It didn't make sense for this thing to be any older than that.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked suddenly, again glancing at his escort.

The stone-faced man said nothing as the elevator doors opened, allowing them both onto the briefing wing. He stepped onto the floor, and Parker reluctantly followed him, looking in his blank clue eyes and trying to see some kind of recognition. But there was none.

The man gestured to the corridor, obviously indicating for Parker to go ahead of him, and against his better judgement, Parker did just that, looking around as the barren walls and windowless doors eased past his gait. He knew about where to go, and when he went too far, his escort stopped him, opening a door without a word and again gesturing into the room silently.

The silence unnerved Parker, making him wonder if this guy was on remote control, unable to speak or take command from anyone except a guy behind a computer. It wasn't like many of the guards in the building to be stoic or impersonal with their co-workers, and Parker was technically still an employee with RDA. Just because he'd yet to receive his severance pay didn't mean he was gonna get the cold shoulder — even from a clone.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked his escort as he was led into the room where the electronic and psychological equipment for his debriefing was set up unceremoniously.

Still, the man said nothing, moving to the small holographic display and initializing the few recording apparatuses hanging over the small chair in the middle of the room.

Parker had been expecting this part, especially after six months in lay-over. He'd been brought up to speed on all the new debriefing procedures that had all but eliminated the employee's ability to keep certain things from the people debriefing him. But he wasn't worried. From his perspective, those blue monkeys were the bad guys, and his brain scans would say nothing different. It didn't matter how many times Grace had argued with him about their intelligence. It didn't make a difference how much he hadn't really wanted to fight the damn things. All that mattered to Parker was the fact that he'd tried to be nice — as nice as a man in his position possibly could be, and all he'd gotten back for his trouble was a kick in the ass from a self-righteous, indignant traitor.

Parker's escort gestured to the chair silently, completing the initialization process as he pulled out a small pack of sterile EEG nodes and moved to where Parker was sitting down uncomfortably. This probably wouldn't be so intimidating if a pretty nurse was standing there assuring him and talking to him, but all this guy could do was stare at him and say nothing. It was extremely frustrating, especially when the guy started attaching the nodes to Parker's forehead and the back of his neck. He knew this wasn't supposed to be painful, but it was _apparently _still in its infancy so it was _apparently _normal for the nodes to transmit small currents of electricity through Parker's skin. Still, he wasn't expecting it was be hot or feel like there was a two-ton brick on his forehead.

"If I promise not to lie, can we do this the old-fashioned way?" he quipped with a laugh, looking up at his escort hopefully but getting nothing back. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, allowing the guy to finish. "Right," he whispered. "Relax. This won't hurt. It's just a debriefing."

Once all the nodes were in place, Parker's escort moved back to the display, punching keys and then tapping the screen in a slow rhythm less than a minute before the recording apparatuses lowered into place only a few centimeters from Parker's face. Immediately, he could feel the heat increase all over his face, and the bright lights forced him to close his eyes. A distinct ringing in his ears indicated the nodes were transmitting and recording his brain activity and memory patterns to the computer — wherever the hell it was being kept. From what Parker had read in the specs for this things, it was only supposed to take a few minutes since it was easier for the computer to make a rather accurate image of the brain along with all the information it encoded than it was for a group of old, money-hungry overbearing executives to sit him in a room and ask him a series of questions to get the answers they wanted.

But Parker sat there for more than five minutes, and when he tried to look around, the chair he was sitting in immediately extended the neck restraints so he had to look up into the lights. He blinked quickly, disoriented and nauseous as he gripped the arm rests in his hands.

"Is this really supposed to make me feel like I'm gonna throw up half my stomach?" he bellowed, to which he got no answer.

The tips of his fingers began to tingle, and then he couldn't feel his hands, attempting futilely to clench his fists. The room, small and white as it was, began to spin uncontrollably, and Parker had to hold onto his chair tighter. He had no choice. If he didn't, he felt like he was going to fall into the whirlpool directly underneath his chair, and he was pretty sure that was going to be unpleasant.

His pulse increased slowly as he sat there, until he could feel and hear his heart racing beneath his ribcage. His breathing increased then, and panic began to set in. This was really taking too long, and it didn't look or feel like the guy who'd brought him down here was aware of his situation. Parker tried to speak again but found that his mouth was completely dry, and his tongue felt twice as big as it had been before sitting down. The edges of his vision began to go dark, and he realized he was blacking out. Good thing he was already sitting down.

It was funny — he hadn't read in any of the specs about something like this happening, and he thought for a second that he'd been set up for this. He'd obviously screwed up an intensely important mission for the company, and he didn't really have a very good excuse except that he'd been doing what his head of security had told him to do. But surely his employers wouldn't do _this_ to him. Most of what had happened had been out of his control. Right?

Parker fought the urge to close his eyes for as long as he could, the sensation of passing out too perfect and timely for him to miss as he let go of his consciousness, huffing softly and falling headlong into the darkness.

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><p>Administrator Davenport was sitting patiently at her desk when the holographic display flickered to life with the face of her Communications Tech, and she gave him her full attention.<p>

"Well?" she asked.

"He's down," Jason reported. "Now what?"

"How are his brain scans?"

"The computer's still recording, but he's in the green."

He transmitted the output on Parker's nodes, allowing her to see what she needed before she spoke.

"Did he suspect you of any foul play?" she asked, pressing a few buttons on her display.

"I don't think so. But he kept lookin' at me funny. Like I was supposed to know him or somethin'. Kinda creeped me out, to tell you the truth."

"Well, you look very familiar to him, and that's normal. You should get used to it for the time being. How long do you think it will be before we get a complete scan?"

He paused over his own set of controls, sliding his fingers over the display and then getting his own beeps from the computer. "Probably a few days. What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime? I got training I gotta complete. I'm not a babysitter, Hannah."

She smiled, seeing most of Parker's vitals near a low cognitive state and thinking about how long it would take him to get used to one of the penal-cryo chambers in Alaska — or what was left of Alaska. "Stay with him for a few more hours," she told Jason. "Make sure the cocktail is working before you turn him over to another tech. It's almost 1300 hours now. You can leave around 1700 hours, understood?"

The look of annoyance in Jason's eyes was expected, but he nodded, shutting off his display before Davenport pulled Parker's brain scans up to full screen. Even though she'd only been hearing about the debacle that had been Hell's Gate for about six years, Davenport had been studying scenarios like this one since she'd been a lowly assistant on the ground floor of the main building of the company. And now that she was being given an opportunity to fix this mess, she wasn't going to screw it up by using old methods and outdated tactics to get the job done.

Davenport knew all about the bottom line. She'd made a point of keeping an eye on the bottom line for the last twelve years since she'd made it to the office she was now occupying. She'd gone through two marriages and her daughter hardly ever saw her, but it was mostly worth it. She was one of only a few people in the company who still believed they had to do something to save their world. It wasn't something she normally discussed with other members of the board at their weekly meetings, but she was sure most people who knew her knew how she felt about sending hundreds of people to an alien moon almost five light-years away to mine a mineral most people believed was actually doing the saving. The sadness of it was the fact that this mineral was worse than oil and coal and any other natural resource the Human race had squandered decades earlier. It was just a short term solution, but she knew how much it meant to have the mineral in reserves in case things like this crazy mess Parker Selfridge had allowed to happen actually took place. She hadn't gotten to this office by being a green-thumbed, hippie child willing to throw her life away for the sake of some ant hills in what was left of the desert in Africa. She had gotten this office because she knew when to make deals and when not to. And you never, ever made deals with a man who had let the situation in front of him get completely out of control.

For that, Parker Selfridge wouldn't be seeing the light of day for a very long time, if ever again. But the important thing now was to get her team ready for its trip. That meant she needed as much raw data from Parker's brain scans as possible, and that way, her team would know what _not _to do when they made it to Pandora. Of course, having a clone of the man leading this band of aliens probably wasn't going to help them, since it was going to be like a slap in the face. But it wouldn't hurt either. At this point, it was the only thing that had actually gone right in the last six years.

The moment Davenport got a status report from the lay-over team assigned in collecting every shred of information off the shuttle that had come back from Pandora, she made her way to the retrieval bay. She still had a lot of work to do.

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><p><strong>So? Anyone surprised? Upset? A clone of Jake Sully? Or Tom Sully? And did Parker deserve what he got? You tell me.<strong>

**Also, the M rating is obviously for language right now. Other things might come into play later, but for right now, there you go.**

**The next chapter will probably be up in another week. I'm trying to get a few of them written and edited before posting, so hopefully all will go well.**

**Until next time!  
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	2. Aggressive Countermeasures

**Not a lot of stuff to say up here, except we're still on Earth, and we're still in the "past." We'll be following this group here until they leave and when they arrive, the same way we'll be following Jake and Norm through everything on Pandora and when the ISV arrives.**

**Thank you for the reviews and alerts and favorites. I really hope this story lives up to its predecessor, and I hope you all enjoy getting to know the new characters.**

**Now, go on! Read.  
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><p><em><strong>. . . Aggressive Countermeasures<strong>_

_**18 months before departure**_

Simulations pissed him off the most, especially when he knew the real thing was about a million times worse. Since waking up in a sterile ambient room four years earlier and gaining the ability to talk, walk and run all within a six-month period, his "handlers" had diligently increased his rate of improvement every six months since then. His day started two hours before everyone else's, right at 0400, before the lights were even on. And after he'd watched more memory exercises than any normal person could possibly endure, he finally sat down at breakfast with the rest of the team, which consisted of what he referred to as 'normal' people. And he meant that in the way that they'd been conceived the normal way. They'd all gestated inside their mothers, been born the normal way and grown up to be chosen for the mission they were all preparing to leave for in the next year and a half.

But what he really noticed was how none of them looked at him any different. There were early mornings — really early mornings — when he was alone that he liked to think it was because they simply didn't know the details of his existence. But when he got a bruise in the simulator or broke a bone from landing wrong out of the crew ships flying them from one insect-infested slum to another, and he was given special treatment to the point that his cuts and bruises healed in a few hours and his bones healed in a few days, he knew they all realized what his purpose there was — and how he'd been made. He didn't have a mother or a father, not really. He didn't have memories of being a child or an awkward teenager trying to feel up his first girlfriend. He didn't have the dreams or nightmares of a man who'd lived a long life and had aspirations to make it better for another generation. He dreamed, yes. But mostly, it was little stuff. And he'd been told upon having his first dream less than a month after waking up to write it all down. The doctors all said it was for research.

He hated doctors. They were just about as useful as a pair of dirty socks — present but annoying. He could never understand where they all got off thinking they were right when they told him it would help him one day. And even if he did usually write down the simple stuff, it was the complex stuff he kept to himself — or as much to himself as he could when they were doing brain scans on him every week to make sure he was acclimating to his environment. He was acclimating all right. If they'd leave him the hell alone, he'd 'acclimate' a hell of a whole lot better. With Samantha.

A loud roar from several klicks away broke him from his thoughts, and he gripped the weapon in his hands. He really _hated_ simulations. They were never realistic, even if the sounds and sensations were all accurate. It was dark to simulate night time on Pandora, even though a soft green glow emanated from the ground and plants around him. It wasn't really pleasing to the eyes, especially since it did no justice to the real thing. He peered around his cover, a tall, thick tree meant to keep him hidden from the fauna being simulated, and all his could see were trees. He couldn't see the sleek, black creature the roar had come from, but he knew it was there. It was always there, no matter how much the computer tried to move it around. That was another bad thing about simulations. He always beat them before they finished their run. _Always._

Samantha was always telling him his brain was different from theirs, because he was 'special.' He didn't usually like that word, since it almost always meant he was a freak of nature. But when she said it, he knew she meant it. She was always telling him he was doing the things he did to help a lot of people. He was never going to be able to tell her he did a lot of it to impress her — mostly because she would probably laugh at him or something.

"Do you see it?" he heard, recognizing John's voice from another few meters away and looking off to his left to spot their Tactical specialist, but it was impossible.

"No!" another voice cried. Logan. The Transport guy. He was weird, but he could fly pretty much anything, and that was cool.

"Would you guys shut up?" Samantha yelled from several meters off the ground in the trees — well, simulated trees. He always wondered how she got up there and how she was even able to sit up there with her rifle. Being the Sniper of the group, she got teased a lot because she was a girl with a gun, but the Wasp tranquilizer she carried on her right thigh was usually enough to shut people up. Especially when most people thought it was a real gun. "Jase," she called, and he looked up automatically. "I got your twenty. Don't move."

"What is that?" Logan asked of her term. "Corporal Teagan."

"Shut up, Sergeant," she grit out through her comm. "I can see Jason. It's right on him."

He didn't move, knowing her scope was trained on him and also realizing the big black cat was too. He knew she was talking in an old Earth code of terms, and he knew she confused the hell out of Logan when she did it. But he understood. So he stayed put until he knew it was clear.

Unfortunately, since the simulation was supposed to be "real," the damn thing could smell him and had him pinned less than a minute after she told him not to move.

"Shit," he hissed, trying his feet and snapping a twig beneath his booth. A snarl erupted from the big black cat's torso, and he opened his eyes, trying to see something other than the darkness and glowing grass. He lifted his fingers to his throat mike, whispering. "I can't stay here. If this shit was fuckin' real, I'd be dead by now."

"Well," John shot back, "if this was real, we wouldn't have to worry about replacing you. Just shoot the damn thing."

"Guys," Samantha interrupted. "I got it. Jase, move to your left. And close your eyes. We don't want you to go blind from the flash."

He eased to his left, grasping his rifle and snapping another twig less than two seconds before he heard the hiss of Samantha's tranquilizer as it whizzed passed his head at the big animal to his right. He shut his eyes tight, hearing the dart hit the cat with a soft thud and then feeling the ground — simulated ground — shake as the animal fell to its side.

"Okay," Samantha breathed. "It's down. We're clear. What's north of here?"

"The river," he told her.

"Good. We're halfway there. That's good for tonight."

A series of grunts and groans followed as she descended her simulated tree, and he stood upright, releasing his tight grip on his rifle as the trees around him slowly dissolved the reveal the inside of the simulation chamber in a tight box that consisted of ten thousand square feet from the floor to the ceiling that reflected light from the projectors as they shined the scene onto the mat beneath his feet.

Slowly, John, Logan and Samantha all appeared within six and a half meters of him, and the lights all came up slowly, causing him to squint in the bright beams shining down on him.

"Productive," John said, strapping on his own rifle. "Slow. But productive."

The doors to the simulator opened, allowing their two commanding officers into the room. He'd been getting used to the two of them since waking up, but he still couldn't shake the feeling like the General recognized him from more than just pictures. He knew his history — at least his face's history. He still didn't like the fact that some people looked at him the way the General was looking at him right now.

"Not bad for a simulation," General Watson commented, to which John, Logan and Samantha all saluted him without hesitation. "Sure hope you'll do just as good in the real thing."

John took point, his deep brown eyes appraising the General's statement from a purely tactical standpoint. "We'll be ready, sir," he assured the General. "We should get deeper in the simulation next time."

"If we're not attacked by a big, ugly cat the next time," Logan quipped.

The creases on John's forehead furrowed deeper as he glared, but the General smiled.

"At least you can anticipate the big, ugly cats when you get to the surface," he agreed, glancing at Samantha and then Jason. "It's after 2200 hours. You should all get some sleep."

He nodded to the doors, and with nothing more to say, John led the way to leave. But just as he walked passed the General, the man's hand landed on Jason's shoulder to stop him. "Just a minute, son," he said softly, watching the others leave before he went on. "We need to talk."

Major Sullivan closed ranks on him slowly, and he lifted wary eyes to General Watson's.

"You're kind of cocky, aren't you?" Watson asked him.

Jason shrugged. "Whatever you think I am, I got no arguments either way. A lotta people think I'm someone else."

"And what do you think?"

Jason looked at Sullivan, seeing a blank expression on her face as usual. Then he looked at Watson. "I think you know more about me than you're lettin' other people know. At least the me you think you knew before. And all I got to say about that is that I'm not him."

"Have you made it your ambition on this mission to prove you're not him?" Watson asked directly. "Especially since you claim not to be him. Because I'll tell you right now, before we ever set foot off this world and make our way to a new one that I will not tolerate defection. I will not tolerate betrayal. So if you think for even a nanosecond that you might be tempted to change affiliations after we land, you better tell me now. I know we might not be able to find a replacement as unique as you, but I'm pretty damn sure we can find one who won't feel obligated to go native, if you catch my drift."

Jason had to smile at that, even though he knew what the General was implying. And while the idea had obviously occurred to him after being told the whole story of his existence, it wasn't an idea he'd been tossing around in an official kind of way. He hadn't told any of his doctors, and he didn't plan to. But it was obvious the General didn't want a repeat performance, and he clearly didn't want to have to leave Earth without a little bit of an advantage — however much he thought Jason _was_ an advantage.

"Is something funny, Mr. Sully?" Watson asked.

"No," Jason replied. "And to answer your question, no. I don't intend on 'going native,' like you put it. I know what I'm doing, and I know what's expected of me. And I've had dickhead doctors asking me the same stupid ass questions for the last four years since I woke up here. I think if I'd been thinkin' about doin' anything like that, they woulda told somebody by now. Don't you?"

The General smirked. "I suppose so. I understand you didn't eat dinner," he said like they hadn't just had the weirdest confrontation of his life. "Stop by the mess hall on your way to your room. Last thing we need is you not being at the top of your game, son."

He didn't say anything else, turning and leaving as Sullivan still stood beside Jason. The moment he was gone, she spoke.

"You _are_ getting a little cocky," she informed him.

He glanced at her, seeing a small grin on her otherwise unemotional face. "After all the training I've done, I think I've earned the right to be a little cocky," he shot back. "Especially if people are gonna treat me like he does — walkin' on glass around me like they're gonna tip the balance against their favor."

"Well, can you blame them?" she asked, turning and leading him out of the simulation room as the corridor outside set dark and empty. "You act like him. You talk like him. For the most part."

"Well, I'm _not_ him. And I'm never gonna _be_ him. That's enough for John and Logan and Sam. Why isn't is enough for anyone else?"

She didn't say anything for several seconds as they walked, and he looked at her, seeing a blank, if not uncaring expression on her face. She'd been this way since he'd known her, and he always wondered how she did it. How was she able to be so stone-faced all the time? He could do it on command, but there were just days when he couldn't do it all the time. There were nights when he had to be emotional. Especially when he had the strangest dreams he had no way of interpreting. There was no way anyone was gonna understand what he was dreaming.

They made it to the mess hall as it set empty, and when Jason stepped inside, Sullivan didn't bother to enter the room with him. He really hadn't expected her to hang around. She usually didn't, but she almost always gave people the impression that she had been shut off from everything for a long time. Jason couldn't shut himself off from everything and everyone, no matter what he did or said. And it didn't matter what the General said or did. The future wasn't set, and even though Jason didn't _intend_ to be a turncoat, he wasn't going to say for sure he wouldn't at least try to understand the situation. That was, after all, part of his job description.

The mess hall remained empty as he scrounged for something to eat and sat down at one of the tables by himself. While he was alone, Jason honestly thought about everything he knew about Corporal Jacob Sully.

First and foremost, since it had been drilled into him since he'd been able to comprehend anything, he knew this Corporal Sully had never been meant to go to Pandora. He'd actually replaced his identical twin because an avatar body had already been in the process of being made. Clearly, the company hadn't wanted to waste a perfectly good avatar, so they'd proposed that Sully take his place. That right there had been their first mistake.

After a lot of reading and listening, it was clear Sully had been arrogant, independent and determined, and he'd joined the marines right out of school. He'd only been in service a couple of years though, when a stray bullet had effectively ended his military career. Jason actually wondered if he still would have been selected to take his brother's place if he hadn't been injured. But Sully wasn't stupid. He was just guarded, and while he probably hadn't identified with the scientists and doctors on the base, he had absolutely identified with the native culture — Warrior Princess or not.

Sully had been good at taking orders to a point, and when he'd defied orders, his superior — a man named Quaritch — had clearly been pissed. He'd effectively punched a hole in any chance of the colony continuing in its current condition, which, when the main group of people had been expelled, was less than stellar. Jason couldn't honestly understand how anyone like that could have been in charge of anything, regardless of their military experience. It was obvious this Quaritch guy had not been the right person to keep the colony safe within reason.

Jason only stayed in the mess hall half an hour, cleaning up his mess and leaving the room the way he'd found it before making his way to his own room. And he called it a room because it had a lot of things most of the other habitats didn't have. For starters, he'd been afforded more space than most of the other guys on his floor, especially since most of those guys thought he wasn't normal like they were. Honestly, most of them didn't really want to room with him, and now that he was used to it, Jason knew he'd never get used to having a roommate. Along with his bed and desk, he also had a communications transmitter that allowed him to decrypt a lot of messages from the satellite interface in orbit. Since waking up, he'd been made aware that it was his _only_ priority. His bed was a little bigger than most anyone else's, but he didn't really know why, and his desk could hold a lot more than anyone else's for all the information pads he usually sat up at night reading when he woke up from a particularly vivid dream.

Since just about everyone — except him — had already turned in, the corridors to his room were dark and empty, and he made it back to his room without running into anyone else on the floor. He barely noticed his ability to open his door without having to unlock it, but when he stepped into the room and was immediately attacked by an invisible assailant, he instantly went on the defensive. Two small hands grabbed him from behind, and he rolled under the body behind him, pinning his assailant to the door. But he barely had time to revel in his success when his assailant swept their feet under his leg and effectively slammed him to the ground with a low, hard thud.

"You really are getting cocky," he heard, recognizing Samantha's voice as she settled on top of him easily. "Didn't they teach you anything in basic training?"

He grabbed her waist, rolling over to be on top of her as she still clung to his waist. "You coulda warned me," he hissed. "You know I've been on edge lately."

"I know," she admitted. "But the only time I get to see you like this is when I ambush you, so what's a girl to do?"

With that, he huffed loudly, getting up on his knees and then pulling her up to face him. They got to their feet together, and he moved toward his desk to turn on the light before turning to her and discovering her in a tank top and the knit pants she usually slept in. "I take it you already had a shower," he commented, allowing her closer and then securing his arms around her the way he usually did when they were alone.

"A short one," she confirmed. "I didn't think Watson would keep you long, so I did only the basics. He still giving you a hard time?"

Jason sighed heavily, laying his forehead over hers. Even when he didn't say anything, she could always tell what he was thinking or even feeling. "I think he asks me the same damn questions every week," he told her, shaking his head slightly. "It's like he expects me to do something stupid. Not here. But there. And I can't seem to convince him otherwise."

She rubbed the back of his neck like she did when he was stressed. "My poor baby," she whispered.

He leaned in without another second passing, kissing her for the first time in almost four days and holding her as close to him as he possibly could, hoping her certainty of him and her faith in him would somehow rub off and then bleed onto the other people around him. Honestly, how hard was it to see he wasn't who they all thought he was? Despite his physical similarities with Sully, Jason didn't really have a lot in common with the guy. He didn't have the same training. He didn't have the same family life — meaning he didn't have the same upbringing. What was it about this guy that had people worried Jason was going to do something idiotic and mess up everything they were going out there to do?

Samantha was completely different story. Though it hadn't been her place, she'd been there when he'd woke up, and for whatever reason, he'd latched onto her. For the first year of his life, she'd been like his best friend. When she talked about basic training, it was actually just a short bout of grunt work he'd been thrown into for about eight months after he'd learned to do everything else he was supposed to do. He could shoot. He could fly. He could learn to duck when the situation called for it. But he'd never been prepared for missing her while he'd been away or thinking some other guy was going to come along and take her away from him. No one had thought to arm him with the tools he'd needed to deal with that, and he'd promptly made an idiot out of himself by trying to ask her out when he worked up the courage and was sure she wouldn't laugh at him.

Now, almost two and a half years later, she wasn't only his best friend. She was his second pair of eyes and ears. She was a safe place for him to let go of all his doubts and fears without worrying she would run to someone and tell them. She was the one thing he knew he could count on, and he knew if anything happened to her, he would probably go crazy — either from anger or grief. He knew it was the same for her. And he knew more than anything that while she couldn't possibly understand what he was going through, she sure as hell wasn't going to doubt him when he told her the truth. It was something he'd always loved about her.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here," Jason whispered, even as he feet moved them both toward his bed.

Samantha still rubbed his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. "Rules are made to be broken," she taunted, grinning and leaning in to kiss him again.

Jason was pretty sure none of the doctors would like this, and he was absolutely certain they would quarantine him if they knew what he and Samantha had been doing the last several months. But he didn't care. It was none of their business anyway, and it didn't really stop him from doing his job. If nothing else, it helped him focus when he thought about her, and it kept him in check knowing she was going to Pandora with him. She was willing to break the rules by being with him, so who was he to deter her? None of the other guys on his floor ever got this close to girl anyway. It made Jason smile to know he had one up on them there.

The edge of the bed came sooner than either of them expected, and when Samantha tumbled backward onto the unmade sheets, she barely hesitated, scooting back and allowing him to kneel in front of her before reaching for him. She tugged his shirt above his head, spreading her hands over his chest and then his shoulders, and Jason reciprocated easily, removing her shirt more adeptly than he had in a while. Her skin was warm and smooth, and as he slid his hands down her arms to her hands, her body shook with a light set of shivers.

Samantha smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders and still combing her fingers through his hair. It was his turn to shiver, and he pressed his arms to the bed above her head, leaning in to kiss her again. Since beginning this dance several months earlier, Jason hadn't been able to believe the difference it made in the way he thought and felt. Sure, he was arrogant and determined, but being with Samantha kept him level-headed — even when the occasional big black cat scared the shit out of him. He knew above everything else she would never steer him the wrong way.

"Still think I'm not supposed to be here," she teased, encircling her arms around his waist and easing the tip of her fingers up his spine.

Jason grinned, pulling her leg up around his waist and laying his forehead over hers. "I think we're both gonna be in deep shit if Watson finds out," he assured her, kissing her again and reaching out to turn his desk lamp off to leave the outside world behind.

* * *

><p><em>A loud blaring alarm woke him as he laid face-down in a muddy ditch, and though he was disoriented for a few seconds, he felt the hard ground beneath him and slowly rose to discover a military installation being invaded by local terrorists. He lowered his hand to his hip, feeling his sidearm and instantly pulling it out to get a look at his surroundings. <em>

_He was deep in the jungle somewhere, surrounded by trees and underbrush thicker than an old man's dirty beard. It was hot and humid, and the ground was wet with a recent rain. Down in these parts, it was still possible for the rain to be a little cleaner than up in the cities, but it was still dirty, and he could still get sick. He knew he'd be getting a detox shower when he got back to base._

_A loud succession of bullets flying through the air caught his attention, and he followed the sound slowly, keeping his eyes on everything and then hearing a small cry to his left. For some reason, he switched gears, moving toward the cry and looking around again before he pulled back the heavy brush in front of him to discover a small child cowering next to a thorn bush._

_She was probably six or seven years old, her brown hair drenched and her tanned face dirty as she wore little more than a torn shirt and pair of shorts with no shoes. Fear filled her eyes as soon as she saw him, and he tried to keep her calm._

"_It's okay," he promised softly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. What are you doin' out here?"_

_She whimpered softly, coiling away from him. He holstered his sidearm, kneeling in front of her and extending his hands to her._

"_It's okay," he whispered again. "You're okay."_

"_Mama!" she cried._

_He quickly laid his finger over her lips. "Shh. It's okay. We gotta get you outta here."_

_She didn't resist when he moved forward to lift her in his arms, and he looked around before continuing on toward where he'd heard the gunfire. It wasn't uncommon to find kids out here, especially with a lot of the adults off fighting. One thing he knew for sure was that a lot of kids were going to be orphans when it was all said and done. That was a sad thought._

_More gunfire stopped him, and he lowered his passenger to the ground, kneeling in front of her and pulling his sidearm back out. His ears picked up on movement, and he scooted back closer to the little girl. He knew he was in enemy territory, and he knew she probably belonged to one of them. But she was just a little girl. It didn't matter who her parents were. She was innocent, and she needed to be protected. But he couldn't stay put for too long, so after the movement which turned out to be a group of terrorist fighters running by, he stood up and lifted her in his arms again to keep going north toward the base. With any hope, he would be able to get her there before nightfall, and she would be safe from the jungle._

_He ran for several meters, glancing over his shoulder and hoping he was going fast enough without jostling her too much, and after several minutes, he swore he heard a voice calling his name. At least it sounded like his name. Kind of._

"_Jake! Where the hell are you, man?"_

_He hurried to the voice, still carrying the little girl and still looking over his shoulder. The ground began to shake, and for the slightest second, he was scared. It sounded like a freight train was coming up behind him, rumbling so loud the trees began to tremble._

"_Jake! There's a air strike coming, you idiot! Get your ass back to base!"_

_The voice crackled into silence, and he realized it was coming from a radio. Both his hands were occupied. How was he supposed to tell them he was coming? He didn't even know how far away he was._

_It was hard to keep his balance as the shaking ground beneath his feet got worse, and in a last ditch effort to do something other than die, he dove into a thick bush with the little girl still in his arms. Just as he landed, a sharp pain slapped up his back, effectively grounding him instantly, and the little girl screamed from sheer terror._

_Rumbling filled his ears, and he covered his head and the little girl as whatever had been behind him closed in and then passed over him. It was beyond hot. The pack on his back felt like it weighed a ton, and the gun in his hand burned his palm. The heat lasted several seconds, and when it finally subsided, he tried to get up. But he couldn't._

_Slowly, he realized something was wrong. He tried to get up onto his knees, but to his annoyance, they wouldn't respond. He thought he was in shock. Why else would his legs not do what he told them? He raised up to his hands, lowering his eyes to the little girl only to find her own eyes half-open. _

"_Hey," he whispered._

_She didn't respond, and slowly, he lifted his fingers to her neck. No pulse. He lowered his eyes to her body, seeing blood and wondering where she'd been hit. Suddenly, he remembered the radio, reaching for his shoulder and bringing it to his mouth._

"_Tango Bravo Charlie, this is Corporal Sully. I'm pinned down south of base, in need of assistance. Respond, over?"_

_Nothing came back, and he tried again, even as the roar of a jet overhead drowned out nearly everything worth latching onto. He turned over to be on his back, staring up into the thick canopy and wondering what he was supposed to do if he couldn't get help over the radio._

_The brush exploded without warning, and no less than ten terrorist fighters armed with automatic, ancient rifles all aimed at him. He held his hands up in surrender, hoping they wouldn't think he was the one who'd killed the little girl. For all he knew, they'd been ones to do it. The one who he would consider the leader stepped forward, still aiming his rifle and then arming it with a low click._

"_Hey, hold on a minute. I was just trying to help."_

_The tip of the rifle touched his forehead, and he closed his eyes, automatically praying to God even though he was sure no one would hear him. Pain exploded in his head, and his vision blossomed in white a second before there was nothing else._

Jason sat up instantly, yelling and forgetting where he was for several seconds. The last thing he remembered was feeling the tip of a gun against his forehead, and in the darkness, he had no frame of reference for where he was or what was going on. A small hand wrapped around his arm, and for a second, Jason tried to pull away.

"Jase," Samantha whispered, sitting up behind him and then reaching over to turn on his lamp. She made him look at her, and in the dim light of the room, he slowly became aligned with her as they both sat there naked.

He huffed, leaning over his legs and covering his face. "Shit."

"What was this time?" she asked softly, rubbing his neck and easing her hand down his back in an effort to comfort him.

"Venezuela," he replied with absolute certainty. "But it was different this time. They shot him in the head. And the little girl died."

Samantha laid her cheek over his shoulder blade, still rubbing. "You're shaking," she whispered.

He laughed softly, rubbing his forehead. "Gee, ya think?"

She sighed softly. "You know he didn't get shot in the head, Jase," she reminded him. "You know the little girl didn't die. He saved her. And no matter what he did after that moment, that's your legacy. You can follow in his footsteps, or you can make your own. It's that simple."

Jason inhaled deeply. "Yeah, I know."

Samantha didn't say anything after that, pressing her cheek to his skin and still rubbing his back.

* * *

><p>The last thing any of the team was expecting was to have "contact" with the local population while still doing simulations, but apparently, General Watson wanted to test their reactions to a Na'vi in the field. So after several days of walking through thick brush and avoiding big black cats, they found themselves approaching a populated area filled with Natives. John and Logan were apprehensive about allowing any of the locals see them, even if they knew it was only a simulation. Sullivan was with them as they eased through the landscape, mentioning that she would have to do it once they were on the surface and deciding it was time for her to start leading them. Samantha didn't have an opinion either way, as long as she got to keep her gun, and Jason was also indifferent, but not for the same reason as anyone else. Only Samantha knew why he had no feelings one way or another.<p>

However, General Watson didn't seem to like Jason's feelings on the subject. And when they were finally within striking distance of the local population, Watson made his concerns well-known.

"You need to be serious about this, son," he told Jason as they all stood around after the first simulation of Na'vi. "We can't afford to have anyone on our team unsure of their place."

After having heard the same arguments from the General and all the doctors, Jason had finally had enough, voicing his own opinion.

"I don't really give a shit about what you can't afford," he informed Watson. "And I don't really give a fuck about my place."

"Jason," Samantha chastised.

He glared at her, more upset and confused than anything else. "And I'm supposed to listen to everybody berate me and talk down to me like a child? I'm not _Jake Sully. _I'm never gonna be _Jake Sully._ But if you're so damned convinced that sending me out there is a bad idea, then maybe you shoulda thought about that before you fucking created me!"

Both John and Sullivan couldn't hide their outrage, but General Watson only smiled, stepping closer to Jason and clasping his arms behind his back. Jason inhaled sharply, standing up straight.

"Is that how you really feel?" he asked Jason, much to everyone else's dismay.

Jason took a chance. "Yeah. That's how I feel. And you know it's true."

For several long silent seconds, Watson nodded, glancing at Sullivan and then John and Logan before he stepped closer to Samantha.

"Is he like this when the two of you are alone?" he asked her, causing her to step back as her face turned red.

She stuttered, and General Watson chuckled softly.

"Did you think no one would find out about something going on after curfew?" he asked.

Jason took a step closer to Watson, blocking his view of Samantha as she stood there clenching her teeth. "You wanna accuse her of something?" he demanded.

Watson only grinned, and when Jason took another step, Sullivan stepped in, pushing them apart.

"That's enough dick-measuring for the night, boys," she commanded, turning her attention to Watson and speaking a little more officially. "Will, you need to tell him."

At the mention of the General's first name, the whole team was at a loss for words, and after stepping back away from Watson, Jason bowed his head and took Samantha's hand in his, proving everything that had been said in one gesture. Then he lifted his eyes to Watson's.

"Tell me what?"

Watson hesitated, scoffing softly and then glancing at Sullivan before he spoke again. "There are a few things you need to know about before you go to Pandora," he informed Jason. "A few things we haven't told you."

"They told me everything about Jake and Tom," Jason argued.

Again, Watson glanced at Sullivan. "It's not about Jake or Tom Sully," he revealed, pausing. "Not entirely."

Jason shook his head. "Then what is it about?"

Watson bowed his head, speaking as he lifted his eyes to Jason's. "Amelia and Ava Shaw."

Having never heard those names before in his life, Jason looked at Samantha and then John and Logan, seeing them all nearly as dumbfounded as he was.

"Who are they?" Logan asked.

When Watson didn't respond, Sullivan took over. "They're the whole reason for this mission," she informed them all.

* * *

><p><strong>So, Amelia and Ava seem pretty important to General Watson. Does that mean he really knows who they are? Hmm? And how about the team, huh? We'll learn more about them as time goes on. To mention a few more things, when we're in the past, obviously, we'll be in third person, and when we're in the present with Jake, we'll be in first person.<strong>

**Next chapter will be from Jake's perspective.  
><strong>

**Hope it's not too hard when all this comes full circle.**

**Anyway, next update might be a little later than this one, but I've got a vacation coming up, and I'm hoping to get a lot done, so stay tuned.**

**Catch you on the flip side!  
><strong>


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